“You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. ” She pulled her dress back over her breasts, glad for the elastic that she had sewn in. Her tone was icy. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here.
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